


Hot Nights, Wild Frights

by CyborgShepard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Moira's Fucky Hand, Monster!Moira, Size Difference, Summer Solstice, Tentacles, x 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 15:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgShepard/pseuds/CyborgShepard
Summary: It's the hottest night of the longest day of summer, and Angela has a strange visitor.





	Hot Nights, Wild Frights

**Author's Note:**

> Me, rolling up my sleeves: i tell ya, it's hard work writing all this monster porn but someone's gotta do it  
> Literally everyone: you don't have to do this, no one wants this, no one wants monster moira porn  
> Me, 4k deep in tentacles: man it's hard work but it sure is rewarding! 
> 
> Is this crack? I don't know. 
> 
> Ft. squirting, and monster cock.
> 
> Edit: Now with absolutely amazing art by [Bongolicious](https://tugboat-overwatch.tumblr.com/)! [ Check it out](https://tugboat-overwatch.tumblr.com/post/173785739865/some-fan-art-for-this-amazing-fic-hot-nights-wild%22) and give it some love <333

The glowing sun has finally sunk into the hills. The night is breezy and heavy with heat, and the air thick to breathe, and filled with the singing of the cicadas. The scents of pepper and patchouli swirl from the pyre, down at the centre of the village, where the women wear little and dance heartily, and the men lounge naked, and watch with something hungry in their eyes. Some are playing light flutes, others thumbing marimbas, and tapping skin drums and laughing as free as the wine spills. Here, In the deepest heart of summer, on Solstice, inhibitions are melted away, and reveal the truest parts of human nature.

From her vantage point where the creek breaks and falls and threads through the valley Angela watches on, a fond smile pulling her lips. She controls this, and it’s all for her. A pretty boy with curls in his hair throws sunflowers, and branches of jasmine into the fire, to be licked up by the flames, and turned into sweet smoke to fill everyone’s lungs. As the offering crisps, her slick skin tingles pleasantly, and Angela’s body thrums with power. She feels so strong already, and the night has only begun.

Angela cards her long fingers through the cool, clear water of the creek she lounges beside. Insects skim the surface, jump into the soft grasses on the bank. The night is so warm and thick she considers dipping into the waters for reprieve, but watching the humans is just so fun.

She doesn’t miss the way a young couple stumbles into the trees on the edge of the village. If she focuses she can feel their messy kisses, smell their sweaty skin, feel the breach and rush of heat, and rhythm. They fuck against the forest floor, where the earth is soft and untrodden and the leaves ferment, in a bosky, hidden place. They laugh against each other, and moan, broken; Angela stretches out against the grass and enjoys their encounter.

Her solstice unites the humans from the mountains, and the craggly sea cliffs, and the plains. They all come to her valley to mark another year of peaceful living, laugh over hearty feasts, and fuck when the night grows long. New bonds between tribes are formed every year, alliances forged and children the gifts of the harvest. There’s a flow, and Angela thrives off of it.

The humans that bonded in past summers watch the festivities until they retire to their stone huts and their plush furs, to try for more children for their growing families. The elders merely watch on until it’s clear that everyone has a pair, and their supervision unnecessary.

Angela’s sure that soon, they’ll leave, and soon, there will be less and less places for humans to hide in.

Two men catch Angela’s attention, when she fans out, and slips into the minds of the villagers. They’re far from the fire, and close to her waterfall, so close that if she peered over the edge they’d no doubt spy her. The thrill is there, but Angela lays down against the earth, and plays with them in her head.

They fumble against each other, biting and sucking, and one falls to his knees. Angela brings a hand to her heavy breast, and her skirts slip over her soft thighs as she parts her legs freely.

She’s so very wet, and there’s a heat in her belly that simmers. Angela knows that soon it’ll fill her veins, knows that soon will be time she’ll choose a human to visit tonight.  
  
The men tumble into the stream laughing. One has hair the colour of fresh wheat, and eyes the shade of ice and just as cold, and he brings a hand to the others’ chest, traces his olive skin, and slips his fingers beneath the gentle waters. All three of them gasp together when he breaches him, and Angela bites her lip, her own fingers dangerously close to herself.

They can’t feel her the way she feels them, but she’s there; she’s in the fire, the water, the she’s the heaviness in the air. Angela is inside them, she’s the rushing blood filling their veins, their cocks, and she turns their skin gold.

Her peaked nipple is flushed and so sensitive that when she brushes it with the pad of her thumb she writhes. Sweat pools at her sternum, glistens beneath the full moon. Her cunt is dripping, hot and almost swollen; three fingers slip inside with ease, and Angela moans freely into the night.

“You’ve put on quite a show,” says a low voice, somewhere above- no, behind her. Angela tilts her head back, and peers at the upside-down figure hanging off the ground, sheathed in night and black, coiling shadows.

Angela grins, sitting up easily. Her long blond curls hang over her breasts, but she doesn’t bother fixing her messy skirts, far too intrigued.

A woman stands a mere five paces from her, and Angela hadn’t heard her sneak up. She brushes against her mind or- tries to. Where a thriving soul should shine there’s nothing, no private song, no thrum of emotion. It dawns on Angela that the humans she’s met don’t wear shadows like smoke, that perhaps this woman is something else… something like her.

“Thank you. I love to entertain,” Angela lilts easily, her voice like crystal, and soft in her strange little accent. She licks her lips, and takes in every little detail of the woman. “It brings all kinds of people together.”

She has hair that burns brighter than the fire in the valley. It falls around her shoulders in waves, a tangle that sweeps over half her face, or, no, what should be the left side of her face. Only, there’s nothing there to cover. Smoke languidly dribbles from the edge of her ripped mouth, and swirls in the gaps, weaves between the tresses of her glossy blood-red hair.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, from all directions at once. “I heard about you.”

Angela peers up at her, curious smile still playing on her lips. “But who are you?”

“It isn’t a matter of who I am but rather _what_ I am.” The smoke rolls off her in waves, and chases her ankles as she steps towards Angela. Black riding boots swallow her calves to the knee, where black pants cling to her thighs like water. Some kind of heavy overcoat covers her, laced across her chest, the long coattails shredded to tatters. The sleeves gape around her thin wrists. Her hands are black, and shiny talons point each finger, darker than the night sky above them.

Angela watches as she pushes her hair back, and her face rebuilds itself from the nothing. The smoke coils and fades, forms the high cut of a cheekbone, the corner of the left side of her mouth. One eye shines a vibrant red, while the other becomes a blue gem hidden behind a small strange mask of white, that meets on the left side of her long nose and wraps to where here ear should be.

She’s obviously ancient, her accent so foreign Angela wonders if it even exists anymore. “And what are you?”

“I am of the marshes and bogs and swamps. I don’t know when I began.” She stares down at her, lounging in the grass, with such an intensity that something in Angela twists. Hungry, is what she is. She can read it from her glowing, mismatched eyes alone.

“And do you have a name?”

She ponders this, it seems. “You could call me Moira, if that is what you wish.”

Moira. _Moi_ ra. It fills Angela’s mouth oddly, her lips a pretty little o. It’s old; in all her years of existence, and all the minds she’s danced through, the humans she’s known, she’s never heard it. She likes it.

“A pleasure,” she lets her eyes chase up Moira’s body, because she is huge and her presence powerful, “To meet you. You can call me Angela.”

“I know who you are,” Moira quips. She’s so close that she almost looms over her. Angela is craning her neck, but she tries a shrug.

“But do you know what you need, Moira?” If she lets her legs slip open just slightly, it’s purely coincidental. She catches Moira catch the movement, though, sees the way she quickly licks her lips.

Moira isn’t shy with her attentions, and seems to drink her fill of Angela’s visage. “It’s been a very long time since I have taken a mate. I’m afraid humans have become… incompatible.”

Below them, the men tousle. Couples have taken to fucking by the pyre; two women begin to frot together, while one plays with a man’s cock, and others watch, and make love. Angela takes a steady breathe through her nostrils.

She won’t deny she’s… attracted, to whatever Moira is. She’s never met anything like her. Some kind of demon, Angela presumes, that must lay dormant unless summoned.

Angela glances over her shoulder, down the valley. Well, she didn’t realise her solstice would garner this must interest. But she isn’t complaining.

“What do you propose?” she asks coyly, when she turns back. She fingers a tress of hair barely covering her breast.

Moira grins wickedly. “You’re ready, succubus, I could smell you from across the hills. Choose me as your mate. Tonight, let me come to you. Tonight, let me satiate you in every conceivable way. Let me worship you.” Her inky black fingers dance over the ties on her coat. “And you will let me take you in all the ways I need.”

Angela looses a shaky breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She can feel her own slick on her thighs, her bare toes curl in the grass. “I agree,” she whispers, eyes flicking down to Moira’s crotch. “And what sex are you?”

“Whichever you want,” Moira tells her, her fingers working the knot on her pants. She pushes them down her thigh a little, revealing a shock of red hair fringing her mound. Angela watches, her mouth open, as Moira passes a hand over herself and then pulls out her cock, hard and leaking, impressively big. “I can be anything you want, Angela.”

Angela tells herself she isn’t drooling, and to stop looking. But she knows Moira knows, and she can sense the smugness rolling off of her just as the shadows do.

“Am I wrong to presume you’re interested in this form?” Moira asks slowly, and like she already knows the answer. She throws her coat off of her shoulders, and her skin is whiter than the moon. Her breasts are small, her waist tiny, the shells of her hips stark and boney. Rivers of dark blood map beneath her skin; the singed tinge painting her hands creeps up to the forearm, where it fades to grey, and then that milky white.

Angela pulls herself onto a smooth flat rock by the water. She lets her legs drift open, and reaches down to let her fingers play in her wet cunt. “Please, Moira,” she says softly, and when she looks at her Moira is staring with pitch black eyes, “Fuck me.”

Moira sucks in a ragged breath between her teeth. Suddenly, there are shadows everywhere, veiling the moonlight, and then Moira is atop her. Her lips are cold where she kisses Angela’s jaw, her neck, and then her panting mouth. Her pointed tongue licks into her with such intensity that Angela can’t catch a breath. Moira is kissing her as if she is commanding her.

A large, freezing hand settles over her throat, holding her down, and Angela moans low. Her legs fall open and Moira settles between them swiftly. She’s tall; taller than any human Angela’s ever seen, taller than her. She hadn’t realised, sat in the grass, just what the disparity was between them. But she can feel it now as Moira bites her lip and sucks her tongue, and her cock, the hottest part of her, leaks precome into the soft fleshy part of Angela’s inner knee.

She can take it, Angela thinks, and nips Moira’s bottom lip.

Moira chuckles lowly, and Angela can feel it where they’re pressed together, chest to chest and slick with sweat.

Her kisses travel to Angela’s throat, then she sucks in the supple dip above her collarbone, then Moira licks the sweat on her sternum, and Angela shudders. She bites the swell of Angela’s breast, before her lips settle on her hard nipple, and she sucks.

Her senses are already so elevated from the burning of the heady patchouli, the hot summer air, the way she can smell the slick of every woman being fucked and feel the budding orgasm of every man fucking them when she dips into their minds. She writhes beneath Moira as she suckles, her black hand caressing her neglected, swollen breast, rolling her pebbled nipple between clawed fingers.

“Patience,” Moira chuckles, as she pulls down further, and presses a kiss to her soft belly, just above where the waist of her skirt wraps around her hips. “So needy. As if you are an animal in heat.”

Angela whines, and sucks a breath. Moira’s hair tickles her wet thigh, sticks to the shininess there. Angela doesn’t know if it’s sweat or her own come. “You said you’d take care of me; do it.”

Moira’s eyes are blacker than the sky. She licks her lips, and it’s predatory, the look she’s giving her. Angela burns. “As you wish.”

She parts her breezy skirts easily, and she noses against her, and breathes her in; and wastes no more time before she passes her long, thick tongue over Angela’s soaked pussy.

Angela can’t help the strangled noise she makes, nor the way her eyes roll up. Moira doesn’t give her rest or pause, she dives in, and licks her in easy sweeps over her entrance, tongue pushing against her swollen clit, again and again and again. She suckles against the bud of nerves, tongue circling it, before plunging inside her and fucking her fast, and Angela feels wrecked, her thighs shaking around Moira’s shoulders.

She could come from just this, something whispers in her mind. Moira’s massive hand presses against her abdomen, covering her belly, holding her down firmly while the other is clawing at Angela’s thigh. As soon as she pulls her tongue from her pussy she immediately sends her focus to Angela’s clit, never letting up.

Her mind is hazy from lust, her focus splayed between the way Moira is undoing her and the way the humans frot. Because of this, Angela doesn’t fully comprehend what’s happening when something else presses against her open mouth and lolling tongue.

Her dark eyes flick open, but there’s nothing there.

Just a wispy shadow, brushing against her cheek.

Moira pulls off, only to shush her. “Don’t be afraid, Angel. You won’t be hurt.” She presses a wet kiss to the juncture of her thigh, her cheeks glistening. The tendril dips into Angela’s mouth again. It’s solid, and smooth, curiously so. Angela closes her lips around it and gives a slow suck.

Moira moans against her thigh. “That’s it, yes, no need to be afraid.”

That’s the thing, Angela realises, as Moira moves back to her cunt and something presses tentatively at her entrance; she isn’t scared at all.

The tendril fills her mouth easily, and one wraps around her throat. It doesn’t constrict, just holds, and the pressure is nice and grounding. Moira circles her clit firmly, around and around one, two, three, and then-

Moira slips inside her, and it’s such a strange feeling. To be full, but full with… nothing. Angela tries craning her neck and looking down, but all she sees is Moira’s hair, falling in waves.

Once inside her, it presses up and rubs in slow movements that mirror Moira’s tongue, and Angela can’t help but fall apart. Drool spills from the corner of her mouth as the shadow begins fucking her mouth relentlessly. She drags her nails against the stone, which is cold under her hot body, and she tries to speak, but nothing but garbled moans escapes.

She feels like she’s going to burst, and something builds dangerously in her belly. Moira is drawing something out of her, something Angela’s never experienced before. She flushes, feeling strange and dirty, because this feeling... When the tentacle in her mouth pulls back slightly, ready to thrust in once again, she pulls off completely and dodges it when it comes for her mouth.

It curls against her cheek, and Moira looks up at her, more shadows wafting behind her, as if waiting their turn with Angela. The one inside her doesn’t stop, though, it pulls and pulls, and the pressure of Moira’s cold flat palm on her belly doesn’t let up. Another tentacle brushes against her backside, almost inquisitive, and Moira is staring at her, impatiently, waiting for her to say whatever she needs to before she can get back to fucking her out.

“I-” Angela stutters, mouth open wide in a pretty pink o. The tentacle inside her curves against the swelling pressure in her gut, hastens its pace. A flicker of a smile twitches in the corner of Moira’s lip; but still she continues, still she watches Angela imploringly.

Angela tries again, chest heaving, her pussy suddenly, unbearably tight, “Moira, something, I think I-”

“Hush, Angel,” she whispers. “Don’t hold on. Don’t fight it.”

She sucks on Angela’s clit, moaning at her taste, and it sends Angela over the edge. The pressure inside of her bursts, and hot waves of fluid gush out of her as she comes against the tentacle inside of her, shuddering where she’s held on the flat stone, and watching with a combination of shock and arousal as she comes all over Moira’s face.

Moira pulls back and sits on her haunches, and swallows her squirt with a gutteral gasp. Angela cries out, and once she stops convulsing the tentacle slowly slithers out of her sopping cunt to join its brothers, all tangling at Moira’s back.

“What was,” Angela slurs, and the shadows gripping her wrists and throat fade to nothing. “What was that.”

It takes her a second to realise that Moira is laughing. It comes from all directions, in different pitches, but all low, and full of gravel and lust. She watches Moira wipe the back of her hand over her mouth and smack her lips.

“No one has ever brought you to that kind of pleasure?” she asks, tilting her head. Her teeth glint in the moonlight. “How honoured am I.”

Angela watches her kiss her, and sighs when Moira’s pointed tongue gently traces her slit. She pushes herself up on shaky elbows, and just enjoys the... reverent way Moira is attending to her. Angela watches idly for a beat, eyes hazy, til her gaze slips and she sees Moira’s cock, bobbing in the night and leaking profusely.

She nods to Moira. “You’ve been so generous with your attention, demon. Take your pleasure.”

Moira hums against her, and gives her a sly look. “What makes you think I haven’t been?” The tentacles behind her sway and wiggle, and Angela rolls her eyes.

She finds the strength to push herself up, and drags her delicate foot up Moira’s calf, and rests it close to her cock, against her thigh. She tilts her head, and her sweat-sticky gold curls drape over her shoulder. “That magnificent thing you’ve been keeping from me. You’re desperately dripping all over the grass. I guarantee once you’re inside me, you’ll never want to be anywhere else.”

Moira growls, but before she can pin her Angela moves forward, and pushes her shoulders down into the grass. She laughs free and light as she falls with her, and doesn’t take long to settle into the position she favours, and knows so well.

Angela throws her hair over her shoulder, and shimmies back over Moira’s hips. “Let me make you feel good,” she breathes, reaching for Moira’s cock. It’s surprisingly hot, unlike the rest of her, so still so deathly cold in this summer heat.

Moira’s eyes are wild, the black having receded back into her pupils and glowing, red and blue. She holds Angela’s hips tight enough to mark, but Angela doesn’t mind. She pushes herself to her knees, and lines herself up to Moira’s cock.

A swift motion, and she sinks down, down and down and down, so completely and unbelievably full when Moira bottoms out. A guttural moan looses from Moira’s heaving chest, and she stares up at the glittering stars, whispering under her breath in a language Angela's never heard. Angela in turn shudders pleasantly, a shiver chasing her spine, and she revels in the glee of having such a powerful, ancient creature at her mercy.

Sweat sluices down her chest as she rolls her hips over Moira, forward and back, forward and back, and Moira’s whispers become more frantic. The shadows around her flirt with Angela’s hair, her skin, pressing softly to her in what might be kisses, in Moira’s strange opinion. A tendril curls around her throat once more, and another around her left breast, suckling airly at her nipple.

Angela’s still so loose from earlier that it’s easy for her to ride her. She leans back and tosses her hair as she fucks herself on Moira’s cock, taking her pleasure. She can’t help herself from twitching around Moira, and on a downward thrust she clenches, and Moira hisses through her teeth.

Her shadows curl into the grass underneath her. Her veins pulse, Angela watches them, transfixed, rivers beneath her lucent skin.

Playing with humans fills time. Angela finds that unravelling Moira is the best entertainment she’s ever known.

“Tell me how it feels,” Angela whispers, feeling that all-too familiar building up low in her once more.

“Hot,” Moira hisses, snapping her hips to meet her. Her boots slip in the slick grass, trying to find purchase. “You’re scorching.” Angela laughs breathily.

“I’m not,” Moira swallows, her eyes swelling with black, and even though she holds Angela tight enough to break her bones her talons never pierce her shiny skin. “I’m afraid I will not last long.”

Angela pants, and works herself faster. “Come on, darling, come for me.”

Moira writhes, and the shadows around her spill around them like spilt blood. When the tentacle around her throat tightens Angela moans, and lets into her mouth.

“Come for me, darling.” They’re lit by the glowing, white moon, and Moira is all shadows and sharp lines. “Fill me up. I need to feel you in me.”

Moira all but roars, her shadows bursting around her like flames. She spits something in her mother tongue, a curse, a spell, Angela doesn’t know, doesn’t care, because the way she holds Angela still as she fucks her through her orgasm has Angela mewling, and she can feel herself being filled.

Moira comes and comes and comes, and Angela can feel it seeping out of her as she shakes, and her cunt pulses with each hot wave Moira shoots inside her, as if trying to breed her. It’s intoxicating, and she imagines this is how her humans feel when they mate.

They hiss when they finally part, Moira’s cock still half-hard, flopping against her belly. Angela falls in a heap to her side, and tries to catch her breath.

“That was…” she starts, but can’t find the words. Moira flops an arm out, and a tendril of smoke pushes against her lips. But not to fuck her mouth; to shut her up.

It’s a long few moments before Moira speaks, after she’s gulped he breaths, and her eyes have gone back to… well, Moira’s normal, and her shadows drape themselves around her.

“Why do you choose the hottest night of the year for this?”

Angela laughs, and rolls to her feet. “This was the night you chose to seek me out.” She drags Moira up; she forgot how huge the woman is. She’s at least three heads taller than her.

But despite her height, and her terror, she looks almost sheepish. “It’s the night when you at the height of your powers, and,” Moira swallows, and Angela finds it ridiculous, to be bashful now after everything. “And your sexual energy.”

Angela rolls her eyes. “Come on, the heat’s gone to your head. Let me find a way to cool you off.”

She slips out of her tarnished skirt, and steps into the water of the creek, lounges against the rocks. Her nipples are just covered by the lapping surface. “Well? Won’t you join me?”

Moira blows a tress of burning red hair out of her face, and shucks her boots.

Below them, the humans slumber, in their furs, the forest, and next to the fire, where it simmers away softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Afterwards, Angela and Moira forged a deal to meet every summer solstice. And then they met every winter solstice, too. And equinox, and full moon, and then, one night, Moira just never left. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3 I hope you somehow... enjoyed this mess.


End file.
